


Trust

by Servetolive



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Creepy, M/M, Mad Scientists, Multi, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Starfleet, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 22:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servetolive/pseuds/Servetolive
Summary: He needs to know that he can trust you.





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> My first reader fic, lol bear with me.

_I need to know that I can trust you._

When you enlisted a year and a half ago, you hadn’t a thought in your mind that your life would come to this moment. 

–

Maddox had never noticed you; not in the two months since you began your assignment under his command, not while you came to work in your regular uniform looking like the boy next door. In fact, you hadn’t thought much of him either: typical mid-level officer; asshole, thinks he knows everything. Tries to make every second you all waste in the lab playing with these living dolls sound like it’s the key to a major breakthrough in their field. You, like the other enlisted techs–and the junior officers who lorded over you, you began to realize–were a part of his stepping stone.

How many times had you sat with Jessica and the other peons at lunch, bored with their gossip about him, wondering who he’s fucking, wondering about why the androids were never clothed, wondering about what kind of person was really hiding beneath the wannabe-cold exterior; beneath the short and curt commands and the demeaning glares?

To you, it was always obvious. This was a deeply insecure person; someone who wasn’t used to being in control. Someone who struggled with his own presentation. Someone who was hiding in plain sight, seeming passionate about a cause that had no foundation whatsoever. All deeply unattractive traits for a man who seemed so well accomplished and who looked halfway decent.

The work was boring. Hardly stimulating, no matter how important he made it look.

One day, you went to work in skants, just to turn some heads. Hair in pigtails, foundation. Modest eyeliner and eyeshadow. Boots. Nothing special, save for the bright red you wore that gave your lips a fuller look.

For the first time, the commander walked over to your station, rather than use the chain of command to send a message to your work leader. He asked you to do something menial for him–something that you knew how to do, yet was not in your job description. You, of course, nodded.

“You look nice today,” he said with the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, before walking away.

You found the whole exchange odd, but the next day, strangely spurred on by the compliment, you upped the ante on the makeup and went to work in your normal uniform. 

Maddox came to you again. And again the next day. And again, until finally you met him in Lab 03 after hours, the high security lab, where the former Commander Data was kept.

–

“I need to know that I can trust you,” he said from behind you, placing the infamous Weapon into your hand as you stood–again, in your skants, dolled up–just two feet in front of Data. He was so close, you could smell his cologne; the regulation Starfleet brand of soap he meticulously washed his hands with.

Data looked at you, neither pleading, nor benign, but with its brow raised, as if it were asking you to think on it.

You hesitated. Maddox took your wrist in his, turned on the device and nudged the tip of it right into the android’s balls. Data’s eyes opened wide; its body lurched forward. Like a cringe from someone who was just on the verge of feeling pain.

“Hold it,” Maddox instructed. You did as your commanding officer told you, until he removed his hand from your wrist, and you held it steady on the android’s genitals, taking the initiative to stroke upward against the underside of its cock, leaving streaks of burned bioplast in its wake.

Data’s pupils shook in its eyesockets. It couldn’t feel pain, but it was clearly being affected. It didn’t even bother to open its mouth: Maddox had disconnected its vocal processor ages ago.

The smell was repulsive, but still: here you were with two people that outclassed and outranked you on many different levels, being trained by one to subjugate the other. You were young, barely out of the house after graduation: your cock was hard and leaking, pressing against the tight fabric of your skants, plainly visible from the outside.

“You think this is about science, crewman?” Maddox’s sleazy voice slithered in your ear as his soft, thin hands slid up the hem of your skirt, smoothing over your ass. “You think this is about technological advancement?”

Your breath caught in your throat as the commander’s hands moved to the front of your thighs, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. He wrapped a hand around your cock.

“Everyone is doing the same thing these days,” Maddox whispered bitterly, as his other hand cupped your balls. Your own hand had faltered a bit; he tightened his grip to remind you to keep steady on Data, whose yellow eyes were beginning to roll back into its head; its arms going limp. 

“Like Picard said, _someone_ will crack the positronic brain. And it won’t be me.”

You were shocked, but there was something admirable about him admitting his uselessness–even if it was just to you, a nobody.

He liked you, he said. He promised swift promotion through the NCO ranks, if you assisted him with his “experiments” along with the hardened Karen and the elusive Dr. Iona, both rarely seen around the techs and apparently part of some secretive cabal of shady cyberneticists who did unsavory work with Maddox in the shadows of the Daystrom.

Forget the promotions. You understood him. He didn’t give a shit about the Prime Directive; the Federation, Starfleet: any of it.

And neither did you. What you cared about was that he was offering you something out of reach to just about everyone else, because for whatever reason, you excited him. You made him reach for his dick. You were powerful, even if you knew that in some way, you were like Data–another one of his toys.

You turned your head to kiss him while you pressed the _lethal_ button on the side of the device. Out of the corner of your eye, Data tensed as if being electrocuted. Maddox’s hand worked your cock over.

Then he broke the kiss and gestured for you to take up a position behind Data, as he took the weapon from your hand. His teeth were stained with your lipstick.

He wanted to watch you lift up the front of your skirt and fuck him from behind, another offering of prestige that only this man–however outwardly pathetic he may seem–could offer you.

You did fuck Commander Data. And Commander Maddox watched you, his toy in hand, as the android tried to lift its head up to admonish the human with its gold, crooked eyes.

But all he saw was you, and it was like he had bestowed a secret power unto you that nobody knew he had the capability of possessing; the power of life or death over an obviously sentient creature.

Your orgasm was your christening into his new, dark world, where principles took a backseat to prurient fantasy, encaptured by the wreaths on the Federation seal…


End file.
